


Take Care of Yourself

by voidfruit



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Injury, M/M, Swearing, self-neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidfruit/pseuds/voidfruit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s cold. It’s raining. Sjin’s put everything aside, including himself, to create the infamous SipsCo skyscraper we all know and love.  Sips is left with his duty to help the dumb babby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Care of Yourself

Thunder. Brash, white lightning.

God, how late was it?

Sips, groggy and exhausted, groaned and turned his bedhead around to face the window. He hated being woken up involuntarily, especially in the middle of the night.

It was raining out. Dark, cold. The wind rushed leaves by as if they were on a highway. For some reason, it felt colder in bed, like emptiness in the warmth of reality. Sips turned around to find empty sheets… Sjin was still out there.

For a goddamn week, that bid dumb babby was out building, constructing, planning, drawing and scaffolding, all signs of a diligent architect as was he. Sjin was only focused on only one thing until it was complete: his work. Not food, not water, not basic bodily functions, not even space love! It was cold out, and dark. Sips was beginning to get worried. No, strike that. He wasn’t beginning to get worried, he was worried. Sips could admit that much. The dumbo had been out there, slaving away in some of the wildest weather Tekkitopia had seen, no less, and Sips couldn’t bare to see him waste away like this. He hadn’t come down from the building site since six days ago. That was strange. But what was even stranger was that Sjin wasn’t in bed already. He was usually the most eager to clamber into the double bed, (taking up all of the room, so that Sips had to squish in and be a mere cuddle toy >:P), and even in his project-stupor, he had managed to get his crazy ass down and sleep.

But that fact of the matter was, once Sjin was involved in a project of his, he wouldn’t rest. He would rather starve himself than to leave and interrupt his train of thought. He would be building- well, ‘building’ didn’t really even cover it. Creating was the better word for it. He would be forming his fantastic designs and executing them from dawn until dusk, and would never stop for anything. And, yes, Sips was scared for him.

He tried not to think. He tried desperately not to imagine negative possibilities. But Sjin was only one man, and he was all alone up there. It was cold. It was dark. An unprepared-for creeper attack. An injury that laid him helpless. God, what if Rythian or Lalna happened to do a fly-by? And the build was awfully tall…

It was still night. The rain still howled and beated on the windows like it was a rabid wolf.

Sips couldn’t help feel that it was partially his fault. Goddammit, he was such a bad fucking boss! He let Sjin do this to himself, he enabled him to sacrifice his health for the good of the company. And even though Sjin would deny it, “it’s not for the company, it’s for my own whims, I want to see how the shadows cast by this skyscraper will catch Honeydinc… blah blah blah blah blah…”

Sips was horrible for ranting on about his childhood dream of a successful company, about his reveries and musings, and all the lists of old enemies he could laugh in the faces of when he achieved fame and greatness. He rambled to Sjin, who had no choice, but to listen to his partner’s dumb ideas about dirt, and in turn, be compelled to help. It was Sips’ fault, at the end of the day. And it wasn’t just Sjin’s health, Sips was, in fact, missing him… his stupid grin, his stupid blue eyes. His insane giggling that drove Sips up the wall. His constant warmth in contrast to Sips’ unending clamminess. His beard that tickled Sips’ forehead in the middle of the goddamn night when he was trying to sleep, and how he always managed to point out how much taller he was by hugging him from behind and then affectionately rubbing his cheek against the top of Sips’ head. His strange, unique smell of mahogany and dirt and the earth and trees, it was always trees. Even though SispCo was smack-dab in the middle of the plains and the only trees around were about two trees on the horizon. His overdone innuendos and suggestive air, that could only be countered by his actual timidness of the subject. Suddenly, Sips had the overwhelming urge to bury his head in Sjin’s shoulder.

Of course, if he was unconscious from some crazy unexpected shit attacking him, that wouldn’t be a possibility, now would it?

Sips finally kicked off the barely warm covers, snatched his flying ring and sword off the wall, and stepped outside.

He was immediately hit in the face by a flood of rainwater. Jesus, it was pouring down hard. The visibility was absolutely zero. Sips could barely make out the pool that was six feet ahead of him. Managing to squint and adjust his flying ring, he attempted to find the skyscraper and follow the way up. If Sips was as cruel as a boss as he loathed himself to be, demanding that Sjin stayed inside was completely justifiable.

Scaffolding was everywhere, strewn and assembled across the place in a tangled web of sorts. A small, partially eaten ration of steak and potatoes was sitting across from where Sips stood on the corner, but the food was now ruined by the weather. At least he had eaten something.

“Sjin?” Sips wiped the water off of his face and out of his eyes so he could he could maybe see better. There was no sign of life so far. “Sjin!” Sips had meant to make a brave, rounded note, but what came out was an unusually tight, tense screech.

“Where the fuck is he?” Sips wrung his hands and opened his mouth to call out one last time, before a weak cough interrupted him.

Sips turned his head to the corner. His heart stopped as he found him. Sjin, drenched in water and cold muck, was curled up in a tiny crescent ball as a cat would sleep, or maybe a small rodent. He muttered various measurements and plans in his sleep; drabbles that made no sense whatsoever to Sips.

“Three meters… marble. Mahogany floor…” A smile spread across his face at those words. “Chiseled stone, ten across. Brick. No brick. Five intervals. Point? Capstone. Ten meters up. Glowstone? Hmm. Revise later. Four steps leading. Diamond saw… have to cut those.”

Sips kneeled by Sjin and placed a hand on his forehead. For some goddamn unknown reason, Sips was tearing up. Sjin was glacially cold. Sips laid a hand on his wrist. Thank god, his blood was pumping fine.

“Sjin. Hey Sjin, can you hear me? You’re gonna be alright.”

Sjin sighed and twitched in his sleep as Sips noticed his form. He had definitely slimmed out in the time that he had been focused on the skyscraper. His ribs were visible, even more so than usual, as was his spine. His spacesuit, which was usually tight and constrictive (as they had been made), sagged around his stomach, indicating an emptiness. Sips didn’t bother to determine how bad his condition was. He knew it was bad enough to deserve care. Instead he ran a hand over his head and pressed slightly to let out some of the water. Sjin groaned in pain, and Sips could barely make out a large gash on his left hand.

“Ah, Jesus, what the fuck?”

It looked like it had been made by a rough, uneven blade. It had not been treated at all since the time of contact. Occasional stains that even the rain couldn’t wash off were dotted around the walls and stone bricks. Sjin had probably fucking cut himself with the saw on accident, but didn’t treat it. A stained towel lay next to him. Maybe he had made some sort of attempt to stop the bleeding? It wasn’t a very good one, not one that a rational person would make. But Sips knew Sjin. He wasn’t rational in the slightest. He was a dreamer. A damn good one, as well. The kind that took their plans to actions. But that didn’t matter now. Sips had to get him to safety. Sjin was his number one priority.

“Okay. Come on,” He whispered as he took the taller brunet in his arms, slinging him ‘threshold-of-a-new-house-style’, and carefully floating down back to the solid earth. The now-muddy dirt squished under his and Sjin’s combined weight.

He shut the door behind them, reducing the noise made by the storm. Sips laid Sjin against the wall for now, taking off his boots and gloves first, blotting him down with a towel. What a dumb babby…

First things first, Sips treated the wound on Sjin’s hand. It was clammy and cold and horrible, a far strike from usual. He wrapped it up in gauze, since a tiny plaster was way too small for this. Much better than that ratty towel he had had up on the building site.

And of course, it would be awkward if he was anything but fully dressed. But Sips couldn’t just leave him as drenched as he was. He couldn’t even get him into the bed as he was at the moment, the water’d ruin the cloth.

So the moment would have to be awkward for a bit, as Sips hunched over and unzipped the orange spacesuit off of his friend’s back, progressing to dry his damp, slightly chafed skin. Thank god that Sjin’s briefs were dry. Sips would not have gone that goddamn far (at least without Sjin’s consent). Luckily, Sips managed to find their old lumberjack outfits from years back, and dressed him in that. He lifted his unconscious head off the wall and pulled the red shirt over his arms and head sloppily. The same with the worn jeans. Finally managing to thrust him into the bed, Sips took a moment to catch his breath. Who knew that Sjin was so heavy?

He dried his hair and his beard, attempting to style it the way Sjin did, but failing in the long run. With the heat from the coal generators on, his hair was back to its original fluffiness in about a half hour. And he was about to leave it at that when he saw, again, Sjin’s starved condition… he could just be the dumbest butt sometimes!

Sips, realizing from Sjin’s struggle that, he too, was soaked in rainwater, dressed himself in his lumberjacking clothes as well. They were surprisingly comfortable, and familiar. Wow, what a blast to the past this was.

With a sigh, Sips put his pink bunny slippers (yes, he still had those from the Beaver-Mafia-fighting days) and tried his hand at cooking for once. God, he was inexperienced with this shit. Like most, it was left up to Sjin, and Sips wouldn’t complain. Sjin was one hell of a chef, admittedly. But Sips managed to take some pork and mix it into a stew with some basic salt and pepper for seasonings, with some carrots and leeks, and starchy potatoes, and soon he had a basic, at best, food source for Sjin. He scooped some into a cup with some bread for dipping and munching, and walked over across the room back to the bed.

He nudged Sjin into semi-consciousness, patting his arms and hands to wake him into at least a dream-like state. Sips held the mug of water to Sjin’s parched lips, Sjin now being awake enough to drink. He was dehydrated, so much so that it seemed his last drink had been a fortnight ago. He downed the entire cup before taking a breath and muttering more thoughts out loud. They were a mix of “taking down scaffolding” and “levels”. Mentions of mahogany were made althroughout. Sips got him another cup of water, and the stew.

Sjin wasn’t waking up, but he was allowing nutrients to reach him, which was the important part. He needed his sleep, most of all. Sips rested the cup down on the bedside table for a bit. God. It had been a week, of basically without Sjin for Sips. Life seemed so dull, so boring, so monotone. There were no hilarious anecdotes to trade or incorrect movie references to make. No conversation, no voice, no life. The color had Sjin had painted in Sips’ life sort of… faded. The whole world became grey and boring, like him.

Sips laid his head on Sjin’s chest. His heart was beating at a normal pace, which was good. A steady, calming pace. Sips sighed and relaxed his head more. At least Sjin was back. At least he was safe.  
From some level of consciousness, Sjin moaned softly. Sips realized he had been resting on his bad hand.

“Aw, shit,” he cursed under his breath. Luckily, it was only on his fingertips. Not where the wound was.

"Aeh, Sipsy?" Sjin softly whispered. He was still too dehydrated to fully form his words without a rasp.

"Yeah, yeah. Right here, Sjin."

"What the hell happened to me?" Sjin tried for a smile, even though it didn’t fully suit the atmosphere.

"It was raining out there. I, uh, went and got you. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just leave you out there. I know that you’re focused on your building and that you don’t-"

"Nah, no," he struggled to sit up. "Thanks." The weak smile didn’t fade from his face.  
Sips tried not to blush. “Eh, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You know.”

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"Have some more water."

"No, I’m fine, fine."

Sips got the mug of water anyways and lifted it to Sjin. “You got it?”

"Yeah." He drank from the cup, visible relief coursing through his body.

"I uh, changed your clothes as well. Your spacesuit was drenched. Heh, to be honest, mine was as well."

Sjin looked at his hand. “Fuck, what happened?”

"You tell me." Sips shrugged. "I didn’t want to interfere, so I came up there pretty late…" He didn’t finish the sentence he was thinking: "maybe too late. I’m sorry that this happened."  
Sjin sighed. “I guess… I dunno. Cut myself on the saw maybe? I was too busy trying to outdo the rough patch on the marble.”

Sips patted his hand on Sjin’s forearm. “Take care of yourself better, eh?” He smiled with a joking tone to mask the fear deep inside of him. The fear that Sjin would be taken away.

"I overdid it. Sorry," Sjin apologized. God, it’s always too soul-rending when a sickly person apologizes for being sick.

"No, I’m sorry. I should have gotten you before."

"I wouldn’t have come with."

"I know."

Sips didn’t realize their foreheads were touching before Sjin’s hand laced with his, bringing them both back into consciousness.

He leaned out before long, breaking their embrace.

"Here. Have some soup."

"You cooked?" Sjin asked incredulously.

"I’m not all death and despair, you know. I have… skills. I don’t know what they are, but I have them.”

Sjin smiled and lightly kissed Sips’ cheek. “I know you do,” he whispered. Sips tried not to blush as he soup bowl switched hands.

"Mm." Sjin’s smile broke into a grin. "Damn, this is good," he muttered in-between sips.

"Really?" Sips was surprised. He hadn’t cooked for Sjin in a long-ass time.

"Yeah, really. Thanks."

"You’re welcome."

The two stayed up late that night, talking about soup, sickness, mocking Rythian and Lalna (as always) and anything else that came to mind.

And Sips’ world was full of color again.

Dawn came with its baby blues and it’s soft oranges, its tense reds and excited yellows.

They were both tired and exhausted at that point, not caring to converse for they were too busy enjoying being in the other’s arms.

"I love you, Sips."

"Goodnight. I love you too."


End file.
